


What's up, Buttercup!

by happybibliosaurus



Category: Captain America (Movies), Hawkeye (Comics), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Flower Shop, Avenger Clint Barton, Awkward Flirting, BAMF Clint Barton, Bad Fire Safety, Bucky Barnes Feels, Florist Bucky Barnes, Fluff, Fraction's Hawkeye, Human Disaster Clint Barton, M/M, POV Bucky Barnes, Please be fire aware!, florist shop au
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-09-09
Updated: 2019-09-09
Packaged: 2020-10-13 12:28:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,966
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20582510
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/happybibliosaurus/pseuds/happybibliosaurus
Summary: After being discharged from the army 2 years ago, Bucky and his army buddies had decided to stick together.Somehow they had scraped together all their meagre savings, borrowed far too much from friends and family, and managed to purchase a tiny florist shop in a run-down district in Brooklyn.  Why a florist shop, Bucky had never really figured out.However, the shop had it's perks. From the counter, Bucky could see the whole of the street outside from the wide windows, meaning he was perfectly situated to observe the most beautiful man who lived in the flat above. Even when he was having the most awful of days, the thought of potentially seeing Hot Guy pass by the shop was enough for Bucku to drag his broken body out of bed.---A small florist shop AU with Clint the human disaster, Bucky the awkward hero and lots of bad flower-based puns.





	What's up, Buttercup!

**Author's Note:**

> My little attempt of one of my favourite AU's. Featuring awkward Bucky Barnes, disaster Clint Barton and bad flower-based puns.
> 
> I have been trying to challenge my writing this summer, stepping into both more action and more dialogue. This is me just having a bit of fun whilst trying to improve myself.
> 
> Not Beta'd (but hit me up if you want to beta the next two chapters ;) )

_ “Roses are red._

_ Violets are blue _

_Poems are hard_

_And I am too.”_

Bucky let out a deep pained sigh, as he wrote out the note to add to the bouquet of roses. Every part of him wanted him to instead send a strongly worded email to the sender about how fucking creepy this shit was, or at least write a second note to the receiver offering his services to beat the hell of the asshole who felt it was okay to write that kind of thing, if they wanted him to. Unfortunately, Steve had already shouted at him more than once for doing exactly that. Some bullshit about customer privacy, that Bucky knew full well that even he didn’t believe in either.

Moreover, it was so goddamn unoriginal that it hurt.

“At least they could have put effort into their awful chat-up lines,” Bucky muttered to himself angrily, as he reluctantly attached it to the flowers. 

After being discharged from the army 2 years ago, Bucky and his army buddies had decided to stick together. They had spent the previous six years being shot at together, been stuffed into the tiniest living quarters together and almost died together, so being apart now seemed even more terrifying than anything they encountered during their tours. Buying a shop for the three of them to run had seemed like a decent enough solution to the problem. It let them all hang out together all day long and helped avoid the fact that none of them had much in the way of qualifications or experience for getting a well-paid ‘normal’ job. 

Somehow they had scraped together all their meagre savings, borrowed far too much from friends and family, and managed to purchase a tiny florist shop in a run-down district in Brooklyn. Why a florist shop, Bucky had never really figured out. Going from shooting guns all day, to cutting flowers was such a huge leap in his mind, that Bucky hadn’t even had time to process it before ‘Thistle do nicely’ had already been purchased and Steve was dragging him inside to set everything up. 

Luckily, and very much to Bucky’s surprise, everything thus far had worked out just fine. A year and a half in, the business was doing well. Steve, every the creative genius of the team, had learned online how to make the most stunning floral arrangements, Sam had turned out to be a whizz with the finance and business side of things, and Bucky, well, he was just about passable in the front of the shop.

Talking to people, especially frustrated and angry customers, was not by any stretch of the imagination his strong suit, not with his PTSD and general brooding attitude, but most of the time the customers were pleasant enough to him. Old women chatting to him about their knitting projects, businessmen making small talk about the weather, and young couples who smiled pleasantly back at him – all of those he could comfortably handle. 

And he could also terrify casual browsers into buying with, what Sam called, his murder glare.

Even with the few rude customers that came in, it was still better than any desk job he might have ended up stuck in, and at least he had Sam and Steve alongside him. As much as he might complain about it to the others, he really did love the shop. It was peaceful and quiet, and there was very little pressure on him to do anything but chat with people and work the register, and if he needed to take a break, there was no one there who didn’t understand and would try to stop him. Working with his two best friends, meaning that they completely understood when the days came that he just needed to not talk to anyone but to sit in the back of the shop and angrily destroy unsellable flowers and stab cardboard boxes with scissors.

However, Bucky’s favourite part about the shop was its location. From the counter, Bucky could see the whole of the street outside from the wide windows, meaning he was perfectly situated to observe the most beautiful man who lived in the flat above. Even when he was having an awful day, the thought of potentially seeing him pass by the shop was enough for him to drag his body out of bed. The guy - known simply as ‘Hot Guy’ in Bucky’s head - was drop-dead gorgeous. Ruffled blonde effortless sex hair, a radiant smile that lit up his entire face, and tanned toned shoulders that went on for miles. Not that Bucky had spent a lot of time watching the man’s comings and goings. It was just hard not to take notice of a man who was a cross between Channing Tatum and an Olympic God.

And take notice of him Bucky had. Even though they had never even had a conversation, ‘Hot Guy’ was now the central feature of all his daydreams. The day in the shop went by so much easier whilst he imagined just how tightly those gorgeous biceps could pin him down.

\----

The week had been one of those particularly bad ones. Everyone seemingly wanted ultra-complicated orders at the very last minute and didn’t seem to understand when Bucky calmly as he could reply that it wasn’t possible. Steve may have been a creative genius with the flowers, but he was also an ‘artist’ which meant he took his sweet time with them. Not that angry customers ever seemed to take that on board, meaning Bucky had been shouted at several times already, leaving his nerves on edge. Then tonight, when he had been trying to close up the store, a frazzled mother came in with perhaps a hundred children, who reeked absolute chaos with muddy footprints, sticky puddles, and several destroyed posies coming as the price.

It was a Friday night and Bucky wished he was anywhere else but the damn shop. He should be out drowning his sorrows with beer and binge-watching TV in his underwear on his sofa, not staying late to clear up a spillage of soil that had seemingly got everywhere including somehow inside the till and all-over important paperwork. It was apparent he was the only one of the team who didn’t have a social life, as Steve had plans with his personal trainer (a date or just as friends, he hadn’t made clear) and Sam had rushed off to visit his mum in DC, so it was Bucky who was left to be the one muttering curses whilst sweeping up soil and mud.

He had finally managed to salvage what was left of the house plants which had been drowned in the soil tsunami when the smell of burning hit him.

Wait, fuck, burning! 

The smell immediately jolted him to action and looking up his saw thick dark grey smoke billowing outside the shop’s window. Brain now on high alert, Bucky dashed to grab his keys from the counter surface and ran outside, where the burning smell was a lot stronger, hitting him right in the throat and making his eyes water. He looked around for the source of the smoke, to find it was seemingly coming from the apartment in which Bucky knew Hot Guy lived, an open window allowing it to flood out the street.

Shit, was Hot Guy okay?

Acting on leftover instinct from his army days, Bucky ran inside the entrance of the block of flats, racing up the staircase two at a time towards the source of the fire. As he ran past each apartment, he loudly knocked on each door and screamed for people to get out and to call the fire brigade, whilst continuing up the stairs to where he presumed Hot Guy must live. Not pausing to breathe, he began dramatically banging on the door. There was no response. Bucky tried again, knocking even harder and screaming for him to open up.

“Hey, we’re neighbours, and I’m pretty sure your flat is on fire, so please open the door before everything gets burnt, god-dammit!”

A very startle black woman with two young boys appeared at the door opposite, making Bucky instantly feel guilty about his language choices. She had her phone already in hand talking to the emergency services, whilst she tried to chaperone the two small boys towards the stairs. Seeing him bashing on Hot Guy’s door frantically, she shouted over at Bucky, “He probably hasn’t his hearing aids in. You probably going to have to break down the door.”

Bucky took a moment to register what she had said – (how hadn’t he notice Hot Guy wore hearing aids? He stared hard enough at that beautiful face) – before he righted his head again and was kicking the door down to Hot Guy’s flat.

Once he had adjusted to the thick smoke within the room, Bucky marched forwards and his heart stopped as he spotted a figure flopped out on the sofa, not moving. Fuck! The figure - which was easily recognisable as Hot Guy - had his eyes closed shut, unaware of the chaos going on around him, and a dreadful feeling inside Bucky suspected the worse of him.

He had seen too many people he knew die before, and he hoped this wasn’t another. Anxiety pooled in his gut, twisting his stomach with tension, and fear started to kick in.

“Come on Buck! Pull yourself together pal,” he muttered to himself, taking a deep breath and shaking Hot Guy on the shoulders frantically. For the longest second in his life, absolutely nothing happened, and Bucky’s heart continued to race, but finally the man's eyes fluttered open. Hot Guy stared up at Bucky, his eyes still filled with sleep, and he rubbed his face in confusion, before eventually registering his surroundings. With a loud yell, he jumped up onto the seat of the sofa, brandishing a cushion in his arms.

“Wait, what?! Fire?!” he rushed out, looking between Bucky and the kitchen, apparently still not fully aware of the situation. “Who are you?!

“Sorry, I work in the shop below and noticed the smoke and if it’s okay I’ll just go and deal with that first” Bucky blurted out, before swiftly moving towards the kitchen, and taking command of the situation. Grabbing a dusty fire extinguisher which was lying unloved by the fire escape, he aimed and squirted the foam down at the stove until it ran out. Inside the fire was much weaker but still present, so Bucky raced to the bathroom and grabbed a wet towel lying discarded on the floor to throw on top of the remaining flames.

Hopefully it wasn’t a nice one, but then again Bucky thought, whoever the fuck falls asleep with the stove on deserves to lose a nice towel.

The flames began to dissipate, starved of oxygen, and Bucky started to breathe again. Wiping his forehead, he turned back to Hot Guy, who was still standing in a bemused state in the middle of the room. Now that the imminent danger was over, Bucky finally got a proper look up at Hot Guy and realised that his face was littered in purple bruises, he had a large swollen gash over his eye, and most worryingly his right hand was splattered in blood up to the wrist.

“What the hell happened to you?” Bucky asked, inwardly gasping and trying to assess whether he was going to have to rush Hot Guy to the hospital. Or maybe the police station, looking at the state of him.

Hot Guy frowned, then looked down at himself, before looking up in realisation. “Aw, blood, no,” he murmured to himself as he wiped his bloody hand on his t-shirt unsuccessfully and then smiled that absolutely charming smile of his, the one that Bucky had only ever seen from a distance and in his daydreams.

“Nah pal, don’t worry about it. I just slipped and fell down the staircase. It’s only some small cuts and bruises …. “Hot Guy paused and lifted up his T-shirt revealing a very toned 8-pack. Was Bucky in some kind of dream because goddamn that was the sexiest thing he had ever seen, and he wanted to just lick them. 

“… no bruised ribs this time, which is good. But maybe a mild concussion. Probably why I fell asleep,” Hot Guy sighed and shrugged. “Normally the dog wakes me up if there is any danger, but I forgot he is at Kate’s at the moment.”

Right Kate, a guy as incredible looking as him probably had a super-hot girlfriend as well, Bucky thought, still trying to repress the mental images of what he would like to do to his abs. They were the kind wouldn’t be appreciated by a stranger. Which reminded Bucky that he had broken into someone’s flat. And knocked the front door of its hinges. To be fair it was to save said someone’s life, but still, breaking and entering – not the greatest first impression. Shoving his hands into his pockets, he mustered an apologetic smile and turned to head towards the door.

“Sorry for breaking into your flat. I saw smoke from below and kind of ran on instinct. I’ll be leaving now,” he muttered sheepishly.

“No wait, don’t apologise for saving my life. What’s your name, man?” Hot Guy responded, moving in front of Bucky and blocking his exit. He folded his arms in front of him which served to accentuate his magnificent biceps, distracting Bucky from his hasty retreat. 

“I need to know what my hero is called so I can make sure to thank him properly.”

And then he goddamn winked up at Bucky.

“James, but all my friends call me Bucky. I’m from the florist shop below,” Bucky managed to stutter back, a deep blush forming on his cheeks. Hot Guy smirked as Bucky turned beetroot red in response, and let his eyes scan over Bucky, very obviously checking him out. He licked his lips slightly and rocked on his heels.

“I’m Clint. It has been _very_ nice to meet you.”

“It was nothing, no worries,” Bucky shrugged, brain frozen, still recovering from the wink and ‘oh my god, was Hot Guy checking me out?!’

Clint’s cheeky smile faded at Bucky’s comment and he stepped forward placing his hand on Bucky’s good shoulder, looking directly into Bucky’s eyes. 

“Dude, no, really. You saved my life and my flat. You are my hero,” Clint declared carefully punctuating each word, which Bucky gave a small embarrassed smile in response. The strong hand on his shoulder squeezed him, and Bucky could feel himself melting into Clint’s grip. Fuck, he’d spent years in the army getting blown up, not so he could just to stand and stutter the first time a hot guy spoke to him. But goddamn, those eyes! They were so blue and big and beautiful, and Bucky wanted to stare into them for hours.

Clint’s hand left his shoulder, and Bucky returned to be a functioning human, if be it one standing awkwardly in the middle of the room, as Clint walked over to the sofa, and flopped back down. 

“Aw man, my friends are never let me live this down,” he whined, not looking at all upset. In fact, he looked entirely too relaxed for someone’s who flat had almost burnt down. Spread on the sofa, he looked more like he had just come back from a vacation than almost been cooked alive. 

Bucky snorted. It really was a ridiculous sight, but he could entirely agree with Clint’s statement, he had friends like that. Hopefully, Steve and Sam wouldn’t find out about this anytime soon. He couldn’t face the endless ribbing for Sam and _pride_ from Steve.

“Yeah, but surely it’ll be worth the fact you didn’t die.”

“Pfff, like that’ll stop Nat teasing me endlessly about it,” Clint exclaimed grinning up at Bucky. “But man, I really am grateful. You seriously saved my life just now. Not to mention the entire building and all my tenants. I owe you, Buckaroo. I’ll have to make it up to you sometime. Take you for pizza or a beer, or something.”

Any doubts Bucky had had before that Clint may have been checking him out were instantly banished because if he wasn’t very much mistaken, that sounded like Clint was asking him out. Him, the fucking mess called Bucky Barnes? It was surely too unlikely to be true. 

The blush on his cheeks started to creep back, but before he could find the words to respond in the affirmative, a large crash followed by heavy footprints running up the stairs broke the moment between the two of them.

The fire truck had finally arrived, the sirens outside blaring, and the shouts of firemen as they ran up to the flat. Not wanting to face the endless questioning by them, and already feeling far too overwhelmed by the conversation he had just had, he snuck out of the flat as firemen flooded in.

\----

Two days later Bucky arrived back at the shop to see a parcel on the doorstep addressed to him. It was poorly wrapped up, in what he suspected was aluminium wrap and copious amounts of Sellotape. Inside was a little toy fire truck, no bigger than his hand. It was sweet and simple, but he felt his heart warming up inside. A messily written note on the back of an envelope fell out of the packaging, and Bucky picked it up of the floor and nervously read the message, which said; 

_ **“If you were a flower, you’d be a damndelion.” – your damsel in distress, Clint.** _

Bucky chuckled and pulled the parcel up to his chest, before humming ask he headed into the shop. Today was going to be a good day.

**Author's Note:**

> The next two chapters are planned and half written, so fingers crossed I'll finish and post them up soon.


End file.
